Darker Hearts
by chloekramer
Summary: What if, when John walked in to the pool, he had really been Moriarty? Oneshot, broken hearts, no violence, but it's implied. :) Inspiration from admin Greenie on FIP:QSVN FB page. Love you girl!


Sherlock stood there, wishing what he was seeing was just a bad dream, or that maybe he'd died, and this was hell. Not John. Never John.  
'Missed me, Sherlock?' called out John, no, Moriarty, as he walked out of the shadows and into the full light of the pool deck. Registering the obvious shock and hurt on the other man's face, he decided to make this sting as much as he could. 'You really thought you had a friend? You really thought that there was someone on this planet who could put up with a whiny little know it all like you? You make me sick.'  
Sherlock's mind clouded momentarily with the memories of the good days they'd shared, him and John. That day they went to the riverside and had ice cream together, even though it was BLOODY FREEZING and everyone was giving them funny looks. They didn't care because they were together. They were happy. They were friends. Sherlock even thought maybe they might turn out to be.. But no. Not now.  
'Why have you done this?' Sherlock wanted to know more than anything. Forget the cases, and blood samples, and DNA results. John was important to him and now that was over and he had nothing.  
'You really don't know?' John's eyebrow twitched upwards as he smirked - possibly the first smirk Sherlock had ever seen from him.  
'I know how you did it. I can sense everything about you. You're giving me that look because you think you're smarter than I am after all, even though since we met you tried to convince me I was smarter, so that I would let my guard down and trust you with information you couldn't possibly understand. I know now that you do. You always did. You play this game, just like I do. Possibly better than I do.' Sherlock practically spat the words out, each sharp consonant resembling one shred of the heart that had just been broken. ' I just don't know what your motive was. To get close to me, just so crushing me was all the more effective, hence being all the more delicious for your sick, twisted, sadistic mind?'  
'Oh, poor Sherlock. Calling me a sadist. How, for lack of a more patronising word, sweet.' Sherlock shifted the weight from one foot to the other. John's words were making him more uncomfortable every second. 'You want to know why I did this? Because I thought if I made you - the 'wonderful Sherlock Holmes', the 'brilliant mastermind who can solve any case in three seconds flat' - if I could make you, Sherlock, trust me with yourself, well.. We've seen how much of an advantage it's given me, haven't we?'  
Sherlock knew he was right. But he was still confused. 'Why do you want to destroy me so much? What have I done to you, Joh- No, Moriarty? Been too clever? Were you a school mate I just happened to beat out for top of the class, and this is you seeking revenge? What is it?' It seemed to be the one question that had popped up since he had met John that he had no definite answer for. All the others seemed to be crystal clear now that his best friend turned out to be his worst enemy.  
'Oh, Sherlock, you do make me laugh. You think I want revenge from being beaten by your test grades? You think I'd waste all this time and energy, hunting you down personally, because of your ability to memorise answers to a history exam? You pathetic fool. You really do think you're better than all of us, don't you? And by us, I mean, well, the world. You're not, Sherlock. You're a crazy, lonely, poor middle-aged man who doesn't have a life outside dead bodies - pre-autopsy. Get a life Sherlock. I don't have a grudge against you from the past. I just hate you. I hate everything you stand for: Being better than everyone else, and doing things yourself because no one else could possibly ever help out. What is wrong with you? The entire time I've known you, I knew this is how we were going to turn out. I knew I'd end up killing you. But for some reason, every time we went to a crime scene, I felt myself longing to assist you. I'd try speaking up, occasionally, only to be met with a "John, go fetch this" or "Not now, John. I'm trying to concentrate" as if I was some petulant child, and you my preoccupied parent. I know now you treated me like that because you were raised like that, weren't you, little Sherlock? Yes? ANSWER ME.'  
Sherlock slowly nodded his head in submission. John was right.  
'And now, guess what I've found out, eh, Holmes? Want to know? I've found out a juicy tidbit that I will be able to use against you for the rest of your life, however short. After all, it will end tonight. You want to know the juicy tidbit?'  
Sherlock had never been spoken to in this way, with such a condescending tone. No one dared. But now.. This situation was nothing like normal, so his expectations should match, should they not? He decided to play it as if he still had the upper hand.  
'Go on, Mr Moriarty, please enlighten me.'  
After all, there was no way John could know about the- Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. From the back pocket of John's trousers came a notebook.  
No. This couldn't be right. No way can he know about that. It was hidden. Under lock and key.  
'The diary of Sherlock Holmes. Right, where shall we read from? How about we start with the first time I'm mentioned? "Dear Diary..." What a lovely way to start! You're practically a school girl. "Dear Diary, I met a lovely man today. His name is John Watson. He's going to move in to the flat with me. He's quite good looking, for a man, I mean. Solved a murder, had some pie. Goodnight! -SH" How nice, Sherlock. Now let's read.. Hm.. The most recent entry? Shall we? "Dear Diary, I'm afraid I have something to confess. Over the last months, well, I've grown rather close to Mr Watson. I mean.. I mean John. I've grown close to John. And, well, Diary, don't tell anyone, but I've become rather attached to him. And I think, for the first time in my life, I love someone. I love him. I love John. I LOVE JOHN WATSON!" Oh bravo, Sherlock!'  
John threw the book to the floor, and it slid across the slippery pool area and went straight into the water. It sunk to the bottom while John clapped his hands slowly and sarcastically and moved in towards him menacingly.  
'You want to know something, Sherlock? Hard as you try, you will never make me love you. Besides, your trying ends now anyway. Goodnight, Mr Holmes.'  
With that, he walked away down the corridor where he came from. The last thing he heard was the laugh one might expect from a madman. Then there was a gunshot, and the world went black.


End file.
